


Bittersweet, Irrepressible

by flowercrownfemme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Confusion, F/F, Fluff, Girl Direction, Harry's A Dumbass Lesbian And She's Valid, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ham with a side of homemade mash, everyone's a lesbian, like no angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 23:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownfemme/pseuds/flowercrownfemme
Summary: “Dear Sappho,” Harry pleaded, her voice unsure and her eyes squeezed tightly shut, “or Hayley Kiyoko, or anyone really. Aphrodite? You’re the goddess of love or summat, right? Um, or God, I guess, if you’re there and you happen to be a lesbian. There must be a lesbian god somewhere, right? Or at least someone who’s sympathetic to the needs of a young lesbian. Because I need some help. I need Louis Tomlinson to like me back."In which Harry's been in love with Louis all semester but can't tell the difference between platonic and romantic interactions, leading to pining and confusion and at least one date.





	Bittersweet, Irrepressible

          Harry couldn’t honestly remember the last time she’d sat down and prayed, but desperate times called for desperate measures and she was anything if not desperate. She’d gone all out, too - just to be sure that she’d covered all of her bases - pulling out her grandmother’s old cross necklace, a prayer candle that Zayn had given her, a rainbow yarn wrapped god’s eye she’d made in third grade, the laminated Buddha card she’d gotten in a yoga class, and every Yankee candle she owned. She’d also turned out the lights in her bedroom and put a Stevie Nicks album on from her phone just to be safe. She wasn’t a particularly religious person, at least in the traditional sense - she believed more in spirituality than in one set rule of beliefs - but she hoped that maybe someone was out there who could listen to her.

          The combined smell of fifteen different candles was already becoming overpowering but she knelt in front of her dresser, where she’d lined up every even vaguely religious knickknack and memento that she owned, and laced her fingers together under her chin.

          “Dear Sappho,” Harry pleaded, her voice unsure and her eyes squeezed tightly shut, “or Hayley Kiyoko, or anyone really. Aphrodite? You’re the goddess of love or summat, right? Um, or God, I guess, if you’re there and you happen to be a lesbian. There must be a lesbian god somewhere, right? Or at least someone who’s sympathetic to the needs of a young lesbian. Because I am - a young lesbian, I mean - and I’ve got needs. I need some help. I need Louis Tomlinson to like me back. I know you can’t _make_ her like me, but if there’s any tiny little _minuscule_ chance that she _maybe_ likes me even a _little_ bit, could you maybe help her realize it? And ask me out? Or at least hold my hand or something in a non-platonic way? I know I can’t make her fall in love with me, but I’ve been wishing on every single dandelion and every single eyelash I’ve found and even on my birthday candles this year and she still doesn’t love me even though I’m a really nice person and my mom says I’m really cute and I think she could probably fall in love with me if she tried. If you could just give her a little bit of a push or like send her a sex dream about me or something, I promise I’ll devote my life to helping other lesbians and I’ll name our first child after you if you want! Or at least our first dog. Um, anyway. Thank you. Love, Harry… Ah-woman.”

          She stood up and blew out the candles, coughing a bit at the smoke and the strong chemical-y fake cupcake smell. 

          Harry Styles had been in love with Louis Tomlinson for four months and seven days, which also happened to be exactly how long she had known Louis - or at least known _of_ her. She’d walked into the first day of _Poetry of the Twentieth Century_ feeling sweaty and flustered because she’d gotten lost in the English wing of the school and been immediately stunned by the angel in the third row. Sitting diagonally across the room from Harry sat Louis Tomlinson, as she learned to her utter delight during a role call at the start of class, who had the nicest profile Harry had ever seen and a messenger bag covered in rainbow patches and pride pins. She missed the entirety of the first class, which had luckily been a longwinded explanation of the syllabus, because she’d been too distracted watching Louis read handouts and look at her phone under the desk. When Louis had nudged the boy next to her to ask for a pencil Harry had wanted to leap across the room with her fully stocked pencil case and present it to Louis as a token of her love. Instead she’d watched the boy shrug and hand over an old broken-in-half pencil stub that Harry was sure had bite marks all over it. It seemed unacceptable that Louis Tomlinson should ever have to touch such a vile thing and Harry wondered for a moment if real tears of anguish might fall from her eyes at the sight.

          They didn’t, but it still hurt her deep inside to watch.

          Harry had always been the kind of person who loved with all her heart and took a more literal take on the word “crush,” often letting her emotions take her over completely any time they saw fit, but she couldn’t remember ever feeling as strongly for someone as she did for Louis Tomlinson. Louis was just so _nice_ was the thing, always asking people how they were doing and offering help on assignments even when she didn’t know the answers herself. Even when she was being snarky and biting she was using her powers for good, often turning on the professor when he singled out the quiet girls in the back and made them nervous. Louis always had a sharp reply ready to take the attention away from them and to offer herself up in their place. Harry spent weeks watching her in class, trying to formulate some kind of a plan to talk to her, until one day when she went to pick up Niall from Zayn’s and found Louis Tomlinson sitting on the kitchen counter with a mug of tea in her hands and no trousers on. Louis had waved at her sleepily and smiled, swinging her feet against the cabinets while Harry stood frozen in the entryway.

          “Hey, you’re in my poetry class,” she’d said, effectively stopping Harry’s heart. “Sorry, m’a bit hungover at the moment, but I’m Louis.”

          “Uh, um, Ha-Harry,” Harry had choked out, trying very hard not to look at where Louis’ thighs were dimpling, squished against the cool tile of the countertop and just begging to be squeezed and cuddled and kissed. “Me. I’m Harry.”

          Louis asked Harry a few questions about their last homework assignment while they waited for Niall to gather her things or finish getting Zayn off or whatever they were doing. Harry tried to take in every word Louis said so she could commit it to memory but everything passed in a blurry fog of blue eyes and pink lips and squishy thighs and _louislouislouislouislouislouislouis_ and all she could offer in return were a few nods and shrugs that she hoped were in the right places.

          She must have done okay because somehow, by the luck of some lesbian god somewhere, Louis had asked to exchange numbers in case either ever had a question about their shared class. They’d started texting that very afternoon and never stopped, even though Louis never brought up poetry again. Niall had come back in with her bag over her shoulder and Harry had waved goodbye to Louis and snuck one last look at the tan-line where her legs changed from a warm golden tan to a soft buttery creamy color that made Harry’s fingers twitch.

          Three and a half months later and Louis was Harry’s best friend, which was just as maddening as it was magical. Half the time she couldn’t believe that Louis was even real because there was no way she could be lucky enough for Louis to even talk to her, and the other half she spent making a mental list of the ways that she would kiss her if Louis ever gave Harry the opportunity. It was torture, her skin burning every time Louis came close enough to touch and her heart racing every time she even heard the other girl’s name. But there were also the times when Louis would sit beside her during a movie and pull Harry’s hands into her lap to play with her fingers as though it were second nature, like she didn’t have to decide to do it, or when someone would speak over Harry in a group and before she could even start to feel sad about it Louis would lean in close with her eyes boring into Harry’s and ask “What were you saying, Love?” Having Louis’ full attention on her felt a lot like she imagined a drug trip would feel: Overwhelming and powerful and addictive. 

          Now Harry was stuck making wishes and praying to any deity she could think of in hopes that Louis Tomlinson might love her even a fraction of as much as Harry loved Louis.

          “She _likes_ you, Harry,” Liam insisted, squeezing her hand tightly.

          “Not like that,” Harry shook her head, pouting. “Not like I want her to.”

          “Zayn,” Liam called exasperatedly. “Tell Harry Louis likes her.”

          Zayn didn’t even look their way, but she stopped kissing Niall just long enough to reply.

          “Louis likes you.”

          They were all at Liam’s, supposedly studying for finals but their books had yet to be opened. Zayn and Niall were too busy kissing and Harry was too busy bemoaning her unrequited love. Liam had put on The Notebook to try and cheer her up but it only made her sadder.

          “If she liked me why wouldn’t she _say_ anything?” Harry asked for what must have been the thousandth time.

          “Why don’t _you_ say something?” Liam groaned, falling back against the couch.

          “Because she doesn’t _like_ me!” Harry cried.

          “Harry,” Liam said evenly, leveling her with a frustrated stare. “When was the last time you and Louis hung out?”

          “Um,” Harry thought, “two days ago? We went to the fair together.”

          “Who paid?”

          “Louis bought the tickets cause she got them online so she got a deal.”

          “What did you do there?”

          “Oh, it was fun!” Harry smiled, “We went on a bunch of rides and she won me a stuffed frog and a goldfish and we went on the ferris wheel!”

          “Did she hold your hand?”

          “She always holds my hand,” Harry told her. “Why?”

          “I’m gonna kill you,” Liam glared. “I’m really gonna kill you.”

          “What are you on about?” Harry sighed.

          “Harry, that was a date.”

          “It was _not_ a date,” Harry insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. “We just went to the fair. It was exactly like every other time we’ve hung out.”

          Liam made a strangled choking sound.

          “Those were all dates, Harry.”

          “I think I would know if I was on a date, Lima,” Harry scoffed, reaching over and picking up Liam’s hand again. “Oh look, we’re holding hands! Is this a date?”

          “It would be if I took you on a ferris wheel and won prizes for you and stared at you all night with gross gooey eyes and thought about what I’d name our children and which neighborhood we’d raise them in - all of which I can guarantee Louis did,” Liam said, dropping her hand.

          “Do you know how many girls I’ve held hands with?” Harry asked. “Like every girl I’ve ever known. It doesn’t mean anything. Most of them were straight, too!”

          Suddenly Harry’s face turned pale.

          “Oh god, I didn’t even think about that,” she wailed. “What if Louis’ straight? I always just assumed… She could have been straight this whole time and I - ”

          “Zayn?” Liam interrupted expectantly.

          “She’s gay,” Zayn confirmed, still wrapped around Niall on the love-seat behind them. “One hundred percent lesbian.”

          “And one hundred percent in love with Harry,” Liam added.

          “Why can’t you just tell her how you feel?” Niall asked, leaning over Zayn to poke Harry’s cheek. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

          “She laughs in my face and introduces me to her cool lesbian model girlfriend who has perfect hair and defined arm muscles and pierced nipples and speaks fluent French and they kiss in front of me and Louis proposes to her so I have to buy them a toaster off their wedding registry and I get Christmas cards every year with pictures of them and their beautiful multilingual children and their fancy ski trips in beautiful foreign countries and I have to hang them all on my refrigerator next to the framed photos of my cats because I’m old and alone and nobody loves me but my cats.”

          “Oh shit,” Liam frowned. “You’ve thought about that a lot.”

          Harry nodded sadly.

          “If that happened you could come live with me and Zayn,” Niall offered. “That way you wouldn’t be alone.”

          “Thanks,” Harry said, burying her face in a couch cushion.

          “I don’t know how to get it into your stupid beautiful head but Louis likes you,” Liam pleaded. “Can you please just talk to her so she can tell you herself? If some kind of rip in the space-time continuum happens and she says she doesn’t actually like you - which won’t happen because that girl’s head over heels for you, I swear - then I promise to personally go and knock some sense into her.”

          Harry grumbled into the cushion some more but didn’t make any promises.

 

          The next night she was back with Louis, curled up on opposite sides of Louis’ couch with their feet tangled in the middle and some Netflix original on the TV.

          “What do you want to do tomorrow?” Louis asked, rubbing her foot against Harry’s ankle absentmindedly.

          “I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “You’re better at picking things than me.”

          “Well, we could go see a movie,” Louis mused. “We could check and see what’s playing. Or there’s that new vegan place you wanted to try - we could go there if you want. Or I think the fair’s still open for a couple more days if you want to go back.”

          She listed a few more options but Harry couldn’t concentrate with the feeling of Louis’ skin on hers. She could never think about anything else when Louis touched her.

          “Whatever you want,” Harry hummed, trying to clear her head. “I don’t mind.”

          “Think about it, okay?” Louis said, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s knee as she stood up. “I’m gonna grab us some snacks.”

          Harry watched her go, pulling a throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it around herself as she burrowed into the cushions and groaned. She was sure that she must be some kind of glutton for punishment, or else why would she keep spending all her time with Louis? It couldn’t be healthy, subjecting herself to that. It was torture, especially times like this when Harry could so clearly imagine what it would be like if Louis were really hers. Cocooned in Louis’ smell, wearing one of Louis’ jumpers and listening to Louis mess about in the kitchen was almost too much to bear. It was domestic and warm and Harry could almost cry if she thought about it too much. She wanted it so badly, to have it be like this all the time - to have _Louis_ all the time. She felt like an addict, always desperate for more.

          “Here we are,” Louis beamed, balancing three bowls and two glasses which she deposited on the coffee table in front of them. “I picked up that juice you like and some dried mangos on the way home from work.”

          “Perfect,” Harry smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

          “No problem,” Louis grinned, popping a handful of trail mix into her mouth. “Now budge over.”

          Harry didn’t have time to think before Louis had thrown a leg over her own and draped herself easily on top of her, sliding her arms around her waist and resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. She flexed her arms just a bit tighter and let out a pleased hum, making Harry’s breath hitch.

          It wasn’t the first time they’d laid together like this, but it never got any easier. Harry felt hyper-aware of every point of contact between them, could feel her own heart pounding in her chest and the goosebumps that rose when Louis’ breath hit her neck. It felt like too much and not enough all at once, even though they could only be closer if Louis cracked open her chest and crawled inside like in some fucked up survival film. Harry would probably let her do that, if the situation ever called for it.

          When Louis’ lips brushed over her neck Harry was sure she’d imagined it.

          But then it happened again and Louis kept her mouth there, just lightly resting against her.

          Harry stared at the television screen, not watching or even really seeing anything, just begging for something to focus on that wouldn’t drive her insane. She could feel Louis’ fingers on her back where her t-shirt had gotten rucked up and she could feel her lips on her neck which had started to move. Just soft little movements like she was whispering a secret too low to hear. Harry felt like her heart had cracked in half and fallen apart, one half low in her stomach and the other lodged in her throat, trying desperately to get out.

          “Haz,” Louis whispered, her voice rough.

          Harry shivered.

          She felt the tip of Louis’ tongue brush against her neck. 

          “Lou,” she whimpered. “You can’t _do_ that.”

          Louis pulled back with a worried frown, still hovering just inches away.

          “Sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her thumb over Harry’s cheek apologetically. “Sorry, I just thought…”

          “I know it shouldn’t matter,” Harry shook her head, her eyes glistening, “but it _does_. To me, at least. I know we’ve always been tactile and I love that, I love cuddling with you and holding your hand, but I just can’t - I can’t handle that kind of thing when I know you don’t mean it. I can’t - you can’t kiss me when you don’t mean it.”

          “Of course I mean it,” Louis frowned, sitting up. “Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

          “I mean ‘mean it’ like _I_ mean it,” Harry explained, getting frustrated.

          “I’m sorry, Love,” Louis said slowly. “I don’t think I understand.”

          Harry sighed, rubbing her hands roughly against her eyes.

          “I mean,” she tried again, “when you hold my hand or you kiss my cheek or whatever, I know you’re doing it in a friendly way, because just that’s how we are, but it means _more_ to me than that, and I want more but you don’t and that’s okay but sometimes it’s really hard because you’re _you_ and it’s driving me mad.”

          “Harry, of course I want more,” Louis told her as if it was obvious. “I was gonna ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend - like official, you know? - but I didn’t wanna rush you.”

          “What are you talking about?” Harry frowned, sitting up herself so they were eye-to-eye.

          “I mean,” Louis drawled, pulling at the throw blanket on Harry’s lap and looping her fingers through the strings, “I know we’ve been taking it slow, but I just wanted you to know, you know, that you’re it for me? Like I don’t want to be with anyone else, I just wanna be with you - even if I have to wait.”

          “But… But - ” Harry floundered, her mouth opening and closing without any real words coming out. “But you… You don’t _like_ me.”

Louis snorted.

          “I thought we figured that out a while ago,” she grinned, poking Harry’s cheek where her dimple would usually be. “I don’t think I’d be dating you if I didn’t _like_ you.”

          “But we’re not dating?” Harry said weakly, sure that someone was about to jump out and announce that the whole night had been a practical joke.

          “Yes we are?” Louis’ smile faltered. “We have been for, what? Three months? Almost four I think.”

          “Three _months_?” Harry exclaimed. “We only started hanging _out_ three months ago!”

          “Yeah,” Louis nodded. “I took you to the aquarium. That was our first date.”

          “No it wasn’t,” Harry argued. “It was not a _date_ because we’re not _dating_.”

          “I - ” It was Louis’ turn to flounder. “But I thought…? I thought you were just shy about talking about feelings kind of stuff? Zayn said something about how I needed to communicate with you more but I thought she just meant to make it more official, like ask you to be my girlfriend - which I was planning to do, but I don’t think that went so well.”

          “Did they put you up to this?” Harry asked, suddenly looking hurt. “Did Zayn and Liam and Niall, did they tell you to say all this? Because that’s really fucked up if they did. They _know_ how I feel about you and you shouldn’t be playing with my feelings like this. It’s not funny.”

          Harry made to stand up but Louis grabbed her wrists, shaking her head earnestly as she pulled Harry back to the couch.

          “No, Harry, no of course not. I’m as confused as you are, I think,” Louis told her. “You really didn’t know we were dating?”

          “No,” Harry shook her head tentatively. “You… You really thought that we _were_?”

          “Yeah,” Louis breathed. “I guess, um, I guess I should have been a bit more clear. I just assumed that you knew. Like, I flirted with you so hard when we first met, I thought _every_ one knew how gone I was for you.”

          “I thought you were just being nice,” Harry squeaked out.

          “And I thought you were just being shy,” Louis said, her lips quirking up again.

          “So you really,” Harry stammered, blushing, “you really wanted to date me? Like for real?”

          “Do,” Louis corrected. “I _do_ want to date you.”

          “Oh,” Harry murmured, trying to process it all with Louis’ distracting grip still on her wrists. “But why?”

          “Why do I want to date you?” Louis laughed, loosening her grip enough to hold Harry’s hands in her own. “Well I thought that I _was_ for the past few months now and even if you apparently weren’t in on that part, it’s been lovely. You’re smart and you’re beautiful and you’re so sweet sometimes I think I’ll get a cavity. It’s been an absolute pleasure to one-sided date you. I should have known it would be too good to be true.”

          “I thought you didn’t like me,” Harry said, her eyes wide.

          “Well, just to be very clear,” Louis told her, squeezing her hands, “I _do_ like you. A lot actually. And I’m sorry for all this confusion, like I understand if you don’t feel the same or if I made you uncomfortable and you never want to see me again, but for what it’s worth: I really really like you, Harry.”

          “But I like _you_ ,” Harry frowned. “I’ve liked you for months and I thought you just thought of me as your friend, or even like a little sister or something.”

          “Oh,” Louis said, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of Harry’s hands. “Well, um, that’s good. And I don’t, you know. Think of you like a sister. You’re my best friend, but I don’t think I’ve ever thought about you in a platonic kind of way.”

          “Oh,” Harry echoed. “That’s good.”

          “Yeah,” Louis nodded. “So, um, since I like you and you like me, would you want to go on a date? One where we both actually _know_ it’s a date? I’ll make sure it’s extra clear this time, I promise.”

          “Yeah,” Harry agreed, letting a smile loose. “Yes, please.”

          “How about tomorrow night?” Louis grinned. “You can come here and I’ll make dinner.”

          “You’re gonna cook?” Harry asked incredulously. “Gonna serve me a bowl of cereal, or am I gonna end up having to cook something foryou?”

          “Hey,” Louis feigned offense. “I can cook, okay? Just don’t do it that often. Only on special occasions.”

          “Am _I_ a special occasion?” Harry asked, giggling.

          “Yeah,” Louis nodded, her eyes soft. “Always.”

 

          When Harry knocked on Louis’ door the following evening she felt just as nervous as the first time she’d been there. Months had passed, and supposedly a multitude of dates, but for Harry it was her and Louis’ first date and she was a wreck. She wore an old floral skirt that came down past her knees that Louis always told her looked like the curtains in her nan’s house. Harry was fairly certain that Louis didn’t hate it as much as she claimed to though, because the last time Harry wore it Louis had traced the floral pattern on her thigh with the tip of her finger all through lunch and made Harry turn an unattractive shade of red. Harry was second-guessing her outfit choice, wondering if Louis truly _did_ hate the skirt (and maybe even Harry herself) when the door flew open and a nearly-breathless Louis stuck her head out into the hall.

          “Harry!” she beamed, fringe falling down into her eyes and her cheeks flushed. “Come in!”

          She reached out to take Harry’s hand and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.

          Harry took in Louis’ appearance for the first time and found herself gaping, her cheeks pinking. Louis was in a full suit, complete with a dark blue tie knotted clumsily at her throat. It fit just too-small enough that the jacket couldn’t button all the way and the pants clung to her hips and thighs, the pant legs rolled up to give a peak of her ankles above her brogues, and Harry felt like she couldn’t breathe.

          “You look lovely,” Louis told her, pulling a bouquet of flowers out of nowhere and handing them to Harry. “I always love that skirt on you.”

          “Thanks,” Harry mumbled, taking the flowers with a shy smile. “Where’d you get the suit?”

          “Charlie got a new one for the last school dance so I stole his old one,” Louis explained with a cheeky grin. “You like it?”

          She did a quick spin and Harry nearly choked at the full view.

          “Yeah,” she nodded, clutching the bundle of daffodils to her chest. “Very sharp.”

          “Thank you,” Louis laughed, settling a hand over the waistband of Harry’s skirt. “C’mon.”

          She lead her through to the small sitting room where the couch had been pushed back against the wall and the coffee table had been replaced with a small folding table, all the lights turned out except for a string of Christmas lights tacked up on the wall. Louis had laid what looked to be an old sheet down as a table cloth and had gathered together the only candles she could find (one pumpkin-scented jar candle, three tea-lights, and two birthday candles which she’d set in a tiny shot glass to keep them upright) all lit in the middle with a plate and a glass of wine on either side. While Harry was stuck in place, taking everything in, Louis gently took the flowers from her and set them in a vase (which Harry recognized as Louis’ favorite novelty Transformers™ drinking glass) and placed them carefully on the table beside the candles.

          “How is it?” she asked, fiddling with her fingers nervously.

          “ _Lou_ ,” Harry breathed, feeling a bit choked up.

          “It’s not much,” Louis said, frowning. “Not as much as you deserve, but…”

          “Shut up,” Harry told her, grabbing her hand. “It’s everything. Can’t believe you did all this. ’S probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

          “Don’t say that until you’ve tried the food,” Louis said with a small self-deprecating laugh. “You might change your mind.”

          “I won’t,” Harry promised.

          She let Louis pull her towards the table and giggled when Louis pulled out her chair for her, giving an exaggerated bow before taking her own seat. Harry watched mesmerized as Louis wriggled out of her suit jacket, reaching around to drape it over the back of her chair and revealing a pair of braces that stretched to curve around her breasts and made Harry’s mouth water.

          “So,” Louis clapped her hands together and startled Harry out of her Louis-fueled haze. “Dig in.”

          Harry tore her eyes away to examine her plate, cutting into the stuffed and wrapped chicken and scooping up some of the mashed potatoes. She hummed in appreciation at the first bite, any doubts she had in Louis’ cooking abilities proved wrong.

          “It’s okay?” Louis asked, a small crease between her eyebrows. “I think I might have cooked the chicken a bit too long and the potatoes took twice as long as usual because I forgot to cut them up before I put them in the water so - ”

          “It’s perfect,” Harry promised, reaching across the table to squeeze Louis’ hand and making the other girl relax instantly. “Everything’s perfect, Lou.”

          “Good,” Louis nodded, clearing her throat. “That’s good. I’m glad you like it.”

          “I do,” Harry assured her. “I’m still a bit in shock, I think. Until yesterday I thought I was gonna be stuck pining and moping for the rest of my life. When I woke up this morning I had fully convinced myself last night was all a dream until you texted me to remind me about tonight.”

          “That’s my fault,” Louis told her. “I should have been more clear from the start. I think I must have been a pretty shit date if nothing I planned even seemed like a date.”

          “I think you’re underestimating my obliviousness,” Harry laughed. “You probably could have proposed and I would have assumed you meant it in a platonic way. Friendship goals and all that.”

          “Well,” Louis said, her eyes glinting, “I’ll be sure to spell out my intentions very explicitly when I _do_ propose.”

          Harry knew it was a joke but the way Louis said “when” and not “if” and the feeling of Louis’ fingertip circling softly just above the knuckle of her left ring finger had Harry’s stomach fluttering and filling with warmth.

          Later on, once both of their wine glasses where empty and the birthday candles had melted into a puddle of wax at the bottom of the shot glass, when they were stumbling towards Louis’ bed and Louis’ mouth was attached to Harry’s collarbone and her fingers were struggling with the buttons on the back of Harry’s blouse, Harry looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of _The Complete Poems of Sappho_ sitting bookmarked on Louis’ bedside table.

          “Louis,” she said, slipping her fingers under the elastic of Louis’ suspenders and tugging on them.

          “Yeah?” Louis asked, moving up to place a kiss on her jaw.

          “If we get a dog some day we have to name it Sappho.”

          “Sure,” Louis grinned, finally undoing Harry’s last button and kissing the newly revealed skin on her shoulder. “Whatever you want, Baby. I’ve always wanted a cat named after Emily Dickinson, but we can start with a dog. We can start looking at the shelter tomorrow if that’s what you want.”

          Harry pulled Louis back to her lips, kissing her with a new fervor and sending out a silent _thank you_ in her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading this! This was low key just based on all of the tumblr posts with lesbians not being able to tell that a girl liked them even though it was super obvious and there were a few in particular that I had in mind while writing and I couldn't find them again to link but if you follow any wlw blogs you probably know what I'm talking about.  
> Oh, also the title is from a Sappho poem!  
> Anyway, thank you for reading and if you want you can find me on [tumblr](http://lesbianiconharrystyles.tumblr.com/)  
> <3 <3 <3  
> [fic post](http://lesbianiconharrystyles.tumblr.com/post/174472590437/bittersweet-irrepressible-5k-dear-sappho-harry)  
> <3 <3 <3  
> 


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